


Beautiful Stains

by mrspadrona



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Love, Fluff, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Mostly Canon Compliant, Potions Mistress Hermione, Tattoo Artist Viktor Krum, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-23 11:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspadrona/pseuds/mrspadrona
Summary: Its been ten years since the Second Wizarding War ended and life has moved on for everyone. Hermione had successfully completed her apprenticeship as a Potions Maker and, because of an act of thievery she committed while they'd been on the run, she exclusively shopped at one apothecary. The problem was the building next door to the apothecary; the one where Hermione Granger had a secret she didn't dare tell a soul about, not even Harry or Ron.This year, as she's heading to the apothecary for her monthly delivery, she notices a new shop opening in the building that has taunted her for ten years. Soon she discovers the owner of the shop is none other than Viktor Krum and time has done wonderful things for him. Their friendship strikes up just where it had left, before the War.And then their friendship turns into a partnership.And then their partnership ... well, sometimes they leave stains.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this is going yet. I'm writing it for my dearest and best Editor in the whole entire world because she loves HG/VK but never got around to writing them.  
> A few warnings:  
> I have a muse named Albert. Sometimes Albert is a dick, other times he's sweet and lovely. He will bribe you with smut before he slams you with the feelz. I apologize in advance for where he goes with this.  
> I love slash. I write quite a bit of it. There will be porny slash in here, I just don't know between who and who yet.  
> I can be bribed. Feedback, kudos, offers of coffee or wine ... all of the above are perfectly acceptable.

For ten years after the Second Wizarding War there stood an empty storefront in what used to be known as Knockturn Alley. It’s face was mostly boarded up due to damage sustained during the war and, if you were brave enough to peer inside, you could still see the burn marks from what must have been an intense battle. There’ve been rumours since it was discovered about what could have happened but no one had any solid idea. Once a month, a small framed brunette wearing the black cloak of a potions master would hurry past this particular storefront with her eyes down and almost appearing to be holding her breath. If there were any way to avoid this particular building, she’d have found it a long time past but, unfortunately, it was a necessity. The shop that she visited was directly next to the empty one and it was the only store she trusted to provide her with the necessary potion ingredients that had to be imported. She could apparate to the shop but, once her parcels were in her possession, apparating was out of the question. So, she held them close to her chest, held her breath, and attempted to pretend the storefront didn’t exist. She had the clout to pull strings and have her items delivered to her as opposed to her having to go get them but she didn’t believe in making someone else do something she was perfectly capable of doing herself.

Said brunette was currently standing at the bar inside the Leaky Cauldron with a warm cuppa in her hands. It was time for her monthly trip to gather her supplies and it was particularly difficult today; today was the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwart’s and she had wanted to spend the day hiding in her flat. But her supplies were precious and she thought perhaps, if she went early enough in the morning, she could slip in undetected and slip back out again without fuss. Unfortunately, this was not going to happen. No sooner had she stepped out of her flat than she was being inundated by newspapers, announcing the anniversary and the many celebrations planned around the country, by well meaning passers-by who recognized her and wanted to thank her for defeating You-Know-Who. By the time she’d reached the corner, she’d been waylaid four times and she could see that the streets were already filled with celebrants. It had taken her four times longer than it should have to reach the Leaky Cauldron and the dim interior was a welcome respite. She’d leaned back against the door for a moment to catch her breath when she heard a throat being gently cleared and she braced herself for another reveler. Instead, she found the room completely silenced, despite there being a dozen or so patrons, and the barkeep was tapping the wooden top where a steaming cup stood waiting.

“Thought maybe I’d be seeing you today and that you could use this,” Dean Thomas said from behind the bar and Hermione smiled in relief. Looking more closely, she realized all the patrons inside the Cauldron were war survivors and they all understood the need for silence.

“Thanks, Dean. I appreciate it,” she responded, making her way to the bar top and lifting the cup to her mouth. A strong odor accompanied the tea and she raised an eyebrow at her friend.

“It’s medicinal, or so says Seamus,” he replied with a wink.

“Well, as long as it’s medicinal, I guess it’s alright then.” She managed a chuckle as she took a sip, wincing just slightly as she swallowed the hot liquid. “I wonder … did you put any actual water in my tea or did you just brew the leaves with Ogden’s?”

“We canna tell our secrets, Granger. Just you drink up an’ stay as long as ye need,” came the familiar brogue from behind Dean as a pair of hands slid around his waist and the dark haired Irishman appeared moments later, resting his head against his much taller husband’s chest.

Hermione stood and drank her cuppa, mentally steeling herself for the walk past she’d have to endure. When she offered Dean a galleon for the tea, he waved her off. “Today, it’s on me. Are you ready to go?”

She nodded and took a deep breath. A few chairs slid across the wooden floor and she noticed Seamus, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and a few others had all stood and walked to the entrance leading into Diagon Alley.

“Give us a few an’ we’ll clear th’ way for ye,” Seamus said, grinning that lopsided smile that she remembered from their first years as friends. She furrowed her brow and started to ask but was interrupted by Dean.

“Like I said, we were expecting you. I can’t imagine the walk here was any fun at all but the least we can do is make Diagon Alley easier. They’re all going out there and will play up the war hero schtick and hopefully draw the majority of the crowds away from where you are heading.”

She almost sobbed with relief but managed to contain it, instead throwing her arms around her friend and hugging him tightly. “When they return, please let them know how much I appreciate it.”

Dean nodded and returned her hug before stepping back behind the bar.

Another breath, this one not quite so deep, and Hermione turned towards the entrance to the alley; tapping her foot as she waited for the entrance to appear. She prepared herself for a mob of people but thankfully, the ruse must have worked because she could hear a huge crowd somewhere in the distance laughing along with Seamus’ over-the-top stories. Taking a moment to thank Merlin for her friends, she quickly gathered her courage and turned towards the alley; towards memories that were almost too painful to remember.

***

_(Ten Years Earlier)_

_“Harry, let me see,” Hermione all but growled at her best friend. He looked up guiltily and tried to shrug his shoulder but stopped almost immediately, a grimace of pain going across his face._

_“Hermione, it’s fine. It’ll heal eventually.”_

_“Eventually isn’t going to be soon enough. Now let me see what happened to your bloody arm so I can fix it.”_

_Harry looked over her shoulder, presumably at Ron who stood well out of hexing range, before sighing resignedly and shucking his t-shirt over his head. He didn’t need to be looking in her direction to hear the slow hiss of displeasure she made when she saw the disaster that was his shoulder._

_“What happened? Merlin’s arse, I think you’ve dislocated it. Ron, hand me my bag, please?”_

_A moment later, her bag was in her lap and she was rooting through the phials and bottles, looking for a healing draught._  
  
_“So let me get this straight. You went to find water and instead, you fell through a tree and landed on a rock? Mate, shit like that happens to me, not you,” Ron’s deep voice was tinged with laughter._

_“I tripped. I fell. The tree must’ve rotted or something because when I hit it, the whole thing disintegrated and I landed on a rock and some branches,” Harry explained. For the fifth time. Hermione had to admit that each time he told it, the story did get funnier and she was having some trouble holding in her laughter. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing she was having trouble with._

_“We have a problem. I’m completely out of healing draught. I can brew another quickly enough but I’ve no dittany left. I’m going to have to get more,” Hermione said, her heart growing heavier with each syllable. She knew where she could get some but it would involve sneaking into Diagon Alley. There was Slug & Jiggers’ shop on Knockturn Alley that she knew was never manned after dark and there was a passage into the shop from the long abandoned Tallow and Hemp Toxic Tapers. She could apparate inside the candle shop, use the passage behind the counter to enter the apothecary, take the dittany she’d need, and be out quick as you like. The problem was she only had enough polyjuice potion for one of them to go. Harry couldn’t and Ron, bless him, had never had the light touch needed to handle fresh dittany. That left Hermione to go and she knew one or the both of them were about to argue._

_“No, you cannot accompany me. I only have enough polyjuice for one and it makes the most sense for me to go,” she clarified before either boy could say anything. Ron had snapped his mouth shut but Harry looked at her with a mulish expression._

_“You shouldn’t be alone. I can stay here and the two of you can go,” Harry finally uttered, but Hermione was already shaking her head._

_“I don’t have the polyjuice for it. I have one dose and that’s it. And even if I had enough, someone’s got to stay behind with you. You can barely move your arm, Harry. You couldn’t lift your wand to protect yourself right now.”_

_“She’s right, Harry. It’s a shit situation but she’s right. We can’t all three go but someone has to stay with you. Hermione’s the better choice. Send me and I’m liable to come back with Chinese chomping cabbage,” Ron tacked on, ever the strategist and jokester. Hermione spared him a tender smile before she turned back to Harry._

_“I’ll be gone two hours, at the most. Probably not even that. Then I can make the healing draught to get you back to rights.”_

_“If you aren’t back by the time two hours has ticked by, we’re coming to get you,” Ron advised, his tone coloured with warning and worry._

_“Deal. Try not to let him disintegrate any more trees while I’m gone?” she joked and both boys had laughed loud and long. She’d taken the polyjuice, shuddering horribly at the taste and felt herself transform from Hermione Granger, Smartest Witch of Her Age, into Mafalda Hopkirk, long-suffering assistant in the Office of Improper Use of Magic._

_A cheery little wave and Hermione concentrated on the interior of the poisoned candle shop, feeling the queasy roll of her guts as she apparated directly inside the shop. She’d managed to get the exact spot she’d wanted, just inside the door leading to what used to be the storeroom, which protected her from being seen by anyone who might happen past the bay windows. She stayed perfectly still for a moment, listening for any sounds or movement that may have indicated she wasn’t alone. When nothing was heard, she allowed herself to relax enough to crawl through the shadows towards the passage into the apothecary next door. Once inside, it was easy enough for her to find the dittany but she almost squealed aloud as her eyes came to rest on twenty-four phials of the glimmering blue healing potion sitting just to the side of the dittany. Quickly taking out her wand, she cast a quick charm to look for any security or traps surrounding the phials. When none appeared, she hid her wand and gathered up ten of the phials. She felt awful for stealing but, once this was over and done with, she swore if she survived, she’d never buy any ingredients from any other shop. Securing the phials in her bag, she turned back towards the passage into the candle shop and found it no longer empty._

_Her heart slammed in her chest as she recognized Theodore Nott; he was in her year at Hogwart’s and, last she’d heard, was still at Hogwart’s. Remembering that she was still Mafalda, she lowered her head slightly and allowed her shoulders to droop as though she were regretting her presence._

_“What are you doing here? There isn’t supposed to be anyone here,” Theodore sounded confused, as though he were the one that had been caught doing something. Hermione jumped on that, hoping to make a clean escape._

_“No, there isn’t. Although I have permission, whereas your reaction would indicate that you do not. Who are you, young man?” she inquired, raising her head and straightening her shoulders. And it was a damn good thing she had because it gave her time to see Theodore reaching for his wand and to reach for her own, barely managing to cast a Shield before a curse spit across the room towards her. The power behind the curse knocked her backwards and she shook her head to clear it, allowing herself to let go of thought and concentrate on instinct. As much as she hated it, she knew that only one of them was going to get out of the shop and she hoped that she had the strength to be that one. She whipped her wand and cast an immobulus curse, which Nott easily deflected. Another curse bounced off her Shield and she ducked behind the counter. Curses flew back and forth between them and she knew it was only a matter of time before someone noticed the flashes of light and the explosions each rebounded curse caused to the walls and furniture. Three minutes into the fight and he managed to catch her with a cutting curse and she felt the blood go running down her leg from the lash marks that had opened up on her thighs. She threw another curse, the same cutting curse as he’d thrown and it rebounded, slamming into the wall just behind her head and causing plaster to crumble down over her head and shoulders. She knew what she was going to have to do but she didn’t want to go that far. Moments later, another cutting curse slashed at her forearms and blood dripped down her arms. Her anger welled up inside of her; anger at having to fight a fellow classmate, anger at having to rescue everyone, anger at having to give up her parents. It all coiled inside her belly and she roared as she stood, aiming her wand directly at Theodore Nott and uttered the words. Sick green light filled the room and suddenly, she was alone. The lifeless body of Theodore Nott lay where he’d stood, just beside a cabinet that used to house poisoned waxes._

_She’d never thought she would have been pushed to this point. She never thought she’d ever use an Unforgiveable and she’d certainly never believed that she’d be capable of that one, in particular. But the evidence to the contrary lay with vacant eyes just across the room. She shook herself and reached into her bag, quickly uncorking and swallowing one of the healing draughts. Instantly she felt the cooling effect and her skin stitched itself back together. She knew she’d probably scar but it was a small price to pay. As soon as she realized she had everything she’d come for, she reached down to touch Theodore Nott’s leg and she apparated away, leaving his corpse on the stoop at the back of his father’s home. She returned to the boys and didn’t say anything about what had happened. She gave Harry his healing draught after she told Ron how to pop his shoulder back into joint. She packed the rest of the draughts away and closed her ears and mind to any news regarding a break-in, a dead body, or any property damage in Knockturn Alley._

***

And now, here she was; ten years older, ten years wiser. She’d pushed herself to attain her Masters in Potionmaking and had managed to successfully complete the coursework and Apprenticeship faster than anyone had ever done so before. And true to her self-made promise, she’d never used a single ingredient from any other apothecarist, despite knowing that she paid a much higher price at Slug and Jiggers than she would anywhere else. But she still had to walk past that building every time and felt her guts churning with guilt. It was her penance for taking a life and, even though she’d long since accepted what had happened and knew she’d acted in the best interest of all Wizards everywhere, she still dreamt of Theodore Nott every night after she’d pass the shop. Tonight wouldn’t be any different, she was sure. She took a breath and stepped onto the path, stopping short as she took in the sight before her.

Instead of the boarded up, derelict building, there stood a brightly lit storefront with very powerful disinfectant charms whirling around the interior. The retina-scarring yellow light that was associated with disinfectant charms was contained behind a shade charm and she could easily watch as the store started to look cleaner and fresher. She stood for a solid minute before her brain reminded her that she needed to get in and out before the crowds dispersed from Seamus’ storytelling. She still hurried past and quietly gathered her parcels from the shopkeep before rushing past in the opposite direction. There was something going into the building; a new business from the looks of it and she wondered if perhaps it would make a difference.

She doubted it.

That night, she dreamt of Theodore Nott again and his lifeless eyes that would forever stare at nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

“You must understand, Viktor. You must understand this is nothing personal against you but I cannot afford to keep you on the team,” Coach Yanevski said, his usually gruff tone almost apologetic as he fired his star seeker. 

He was being let go from his contract with the Bulgarian National Quidditch team because of his disdain for the war and, in particular, Voldemort himself. Quidditch was a national sport but it was the sponsorships by Pureblood families that kept them in new brooms and uniforms. Many Bulgarian Purebloods supported the war and, as such, Viktor was let go. He hadn’t expected it, not even a hint. Yesterday, he’d been taken out for dinner by the Stanislav family and he’d been very careful of what he’d said. Apparently not careful enough. He swallowed hard, nodded once and stood up, offering his hand to the coach.

“I don’t understand but I respect your position. I’ll clear my things and be gone vithin the hour,” Viktor said, managing to control his disappointment and his temper behind a stiffly professional mask. And true to his word, thirty-five minutes later, Viktor apparated away from the training camp where he’d been living and arrived inside the Ministry of Magic in his home town of Sofia. From there, he started walking towards his flat when his attention was caught by something in the corner of his eye. It was a Muggle tattoo parlour, which wasn’t all that unusual. But seeing a wizard sitting down and a design forming on his skin was; wizards didn’t really get tattoos for recreation, mostly for ceremonies or cults. Viktor watched as the wizard’s bicep turned from ruddy skin into a fierce Norwegian Ridgeback that curled around his entire arm. He got back to his flat that night and began researching wizarding tattoos (there were none) and how to become a tattoo artist. 

Five years later, he’d finished his apprenticeship to a Muggle tattooist and had worked with Muggles to create fantastical designs they could be proud of. His reputation built and soon he had more clients than he had time; a very convenient problem to have. But he was still pursuing the idea of a wizarding tattoo; trying to figure out which charms or spells could be used to imbue personal warding or to create tattoos that were similar to wizarding photos, complete with movement. And he wasn’t going to get that working with Muggles. He’d let his clientele know of his “extended vacation” and had returned to the wizarding world with the intent of opening a tattoo shop. He had researched every possibility for where he could put his shop and had determined that Diagon Alley would probably be best as it would be close enough to some of the best minds in the wizarding world. The building he settled on was just off of Diagon Alley and next to an apothecarist, which he intended to become very familiar with as he started to experiment of how to make wizarding ink. He’d spent a week just cleaning the shop enough that the disinfectant charm he’d purchased could be effective. He’d cast the shade charm over the windows to ensure the brilliant yellow light didn’t affect any witch or wizard who happened past. The charm would work for about an hour and he turned up the street, intent on visiting the Leaky Cauldron for a quick meal. He hadn’t had the time to reach out to any of the people that he’d known back during his final year at Durmstrang. Well, some of it was time; but most of it was fear. He didn’t know what kind of greeting he could expect. He didn’t know how many people he had known those many years ago had died during the resulting war. Or after it. He knew Harry, Ron, and Hermione had survived but he had no news of anyone else. And he was going to keep it that way; if he didn’t have confirmation of their death, he could still technically think of them as being alive and well. 

Pushing open the door into the Leaky Cauldron, he looks around and sees it mostly empty. He’d expected there would be more celebrations and people gathering together but inside the pub was quiet as a graveyard.

“Hello?” he called out and the sound was flat. There was a charm at work that kept sound well muted, some fancy charm work had been done there. He remembered Hermione had always done the most elegant charmwork he’d ever seen and wondered if she’d been the one to cast it.

A voice came back, sounding just as flat. “Be right there.”

Viktor hung his cloak on the peg and approached the bar, seating himself on a stool just at the middle of the bar, where he could see everything. A moment went by and a tall, black wizard approached him, smiling widely.

“I thought that was you. Viktor Krum, it’s damned good to see you,” the wizard said and Viktor felt a little warmth seep into his bones. He couldn’t remember the name of the wizard but he remembered his face. 

“It is good to see you as vell. Very glad to see you. You are vorking here?”

The wizard chuckled and spread his arms wide as he replied, “I work, I own, I clean. This is my place now. Seamus and I bought it just after the war ended and we’ve been running it since.”

Seamus. Viktor remembered him, the prankster Irish wizard. And that would make this man Dean Thomas. Viktor remembered him now and smiled even wider. “Vell then, I congratulate you on your successes. It appears this life suits you.”

For a moment, Dean’s face shadowed and there was a look of resignation before it was replaced with the cheerful mask. “There are days that it’s better than others. Today’s one of the good days, when I see people that are important to me and I can help them. And now, to put a polish on the day, Viktor Krum appears in my bar.”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. “You vill regret saying that when I am here every day. I am in business in the Alley,” he replied.

“So you were the one who bought the old shop. We wondered who’d bought it but no one seemed to know,” Dean inquired.

“Da. I bought the shop so I can vork and be close to an apothecary for any supplies I might need,” Viktor was careful not to mention what he’d intended to research as he answered and Dean nodded his head.

“What kind of business are you in?”

“Tattooing. I left the vizarding vorld before the var and I studied Muggle tattooing vhile I vas there.”

Dean looked up and was smiling widely. “That’s brilliant! Tattoos are still rare on a wizard but it’s starting to catch on. You’ll be in the lead with all of your experience. Best of luck to you,” Dean explained and stopped for a moment while he conjured a menu quickly for Viktor to look at. “Now what can I welcome you back to Diagon Alley by providing? The steak and kidney pie is one of Seamus’ best.”

“That is vhat I am hoping for. Thank you. I vould very much like to try the pie,” Viktor answered, handing the menu back to Dean.

Dean thanked him and disapparated from the room, only to return to the room through a swinging door to Viktor’s left and holding a plate with a huge portion of pie and a mug of stout ale. He lay them on the counter in front of Viktor and grinned.

“Enjoy, mate.”

Viktor ate, thoroughly enjoying the steak and kidney pie and the stout that had bee paired with it. When he went to pay for his lunch, Dean waved him off and said it was a welcome to the neighborhood gift; he left three galleons on the table as he left anyway.

Walking back to his shop, he almost barreled into a small woman, clutching packages to her chest, with her head down. She moved out of the way just in time and Viktor had a moment to consider the figure. There was something familiar about the woman but Viktor couldn’t place it. He shook his head as he came back to his shop and noticed the disinfectant charm had finished and the interior of the shop was now completely sterile. He was glad for it as this meant he’d be able to start working on setting up the interior of the shop. Three weeks later, Visionary Inks opened its doors for business. Combined with Dean’s vocal reminders to people of who he was and his own social media there was a lot of interest and he quickly had a steady stream of customers coming to get their own tattoos. And he’d been true to his word to Dean, showing up throughout the day for a quick meal or a cuppa. 

Today was no different, as he stopped by to get a breakfast on his way to the shop. He’d been coming in earlier in the day to experiment with the ink and he was stumped at how a charm could be infused into the ink. No sooner was he standing from the bar, having paid his breakfast tab, that his eye caught a witch walking past him and he recognized her immediately. Her hair was longer and more sleek but he could still see the curls in the high ponytail. He apparated from the Cauldron to his own shop and waited for her to come down the street. It didn’t take long and Viktor watched her approach, taking in small details and rebuilding the image of fourteen year old Hermione into the beauty in front of him. She wore a Potions Master cloak, well fitted to her frame while still allowing full movement. He wasn’t surprised that she’d become a Potions Master but that she would shop Slug and Jiggers. In the month Viktor had been back in the wizarding world, he’d bought ingredients at a few places and had discovered Slug’s prices were nearly double what others charged. 

As she came closer, she looked up slowly, as though bracing herself for something unpleasant. Her face turned to confusion and then, as she looked at Viktor standing outside, happiness. 

“Viktor!” Hermione rushed forward and hugged him tightly. He caught her as she wrapped her arms around his waist and picked her up to hug her, only realizing after the fact how incredibly inappropriate that was. He swiftly put her down and opened his mouth to apologize when he saw happiness on her face as opposed to annoyance. 

“Hermione, I am pleased to see you again, after so long avay,” he said and watched her blush slightly. It highlighted her face even more and made her look the same as she had the night of the Yule Ball. He remembered their stolen moments together in the castle, the warmth of her body against his as they walked the corridor, the softness of her lips when they’d kissed.

“I’d heard you were here and I meant to come by sooner but I’ve been working on a new potion and it’s taken up every minute of my time,” she answered, looking up at him with those dark chocolate eyes that had always been his weakness for her. Her eyes were sharply intelligent and, with a decade of time between, just as lovely as they’d been when he’d first seen her.

“Do you have the time for a coffee? I vould like to catch up vith you?” he inquired, hoping to have more time with his friend. 

She looked disappointed and something skittered across her eyes as he’d motioned towards the door to his shop. Something that looked like fear and he didn’t understand it. But the moment was gone in the blink of an eye and she managed an empty smile.

“I don’t just now. I have to pick my deliveries up from the apothecary and then I have a potion waiting for me at the Ministry. Are you usually here this early?”

“Da. I come here early in the mornings to vork on a few things that I half been experimenting vith.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up and her smile became the full one he was used to seeing. “How lovely! Tomorrow morning, if you have the time? We could catch a cuppa at the Leaky Cauldron or there’s a fantastic Muggle shop just up the road,” she invited and Viktor smiled in response. So her aversion wasn’t to him, simply his shop. Odd.

“I vould love to have coffee vith you tomorrow. I vill meet you at seven at the Generous Cup?” Viktor knew exactly which coffee shop she’d been referencing because there was only one Muggle shop in the area and he really did enjoy their pastries. 

After agreeing to meet, Hermione once again wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him tightly. He got the distinct impression that she hadn’t known his fate during or after the war and it was probably for the same reasons he had. Without confirmation one way or the other, it was easier to believe in the positive. He risked a swift kiss into the curls at the crown of her head, doubting she’d even feel it and thoroughly enjoyed the crisp apple aroma to her shampoo. She squeezed a bit more tightly for another moment and reluctantly withdrew her arms. 

Two minutes later, Viktor watched her disappear into Slug and Jiggers and then re-appear ten minutes later, laden with packages. Suddenly he realized she was the woman he’d almost barreled into on his first day in the Alley. He chuckled to himself and wondered what it was that made her so skittish about his shop. She’d rushed past in both directions, never daring to look up, even to wave.

Thirty minutes later, Viktor was working on a wizard to create a tattoo to memorialize his parents, both of whom had perished during the war and Viktor forgot about his curiosity.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not forgotten about this, I promise!

Hermione stood in front of her wardrobe, fresh from a shower where she’d spent more time than she was willing to admit to borderline Scourgifying her own skin. In a twist of luck, her hair had been cooperative for once; it had only taken her two tries to get it under some semblance of control. Now she was looking in her wardrobe at the sea of black that was her basic wardrobe. Potions Master cloaks, dragonhide boots, and black trousers for under her robes. She could have sworn she owned at least one nice blouse, but it wasn’t in her wardrobe and she had to admit there was a chance she’d either loaned it to someone and forgotten about it or had ruined it while at university (her pursuit of education had been legendary, as had her laundry before she finally gave up and started wearing all black). She dressed in her more formal robes, those she used when meeting with the Ministry, and a comfortable pair of her low-profile Chuck Taylor trainers. A pair of silver studs in her ears and she was ready to go. It was half six and that meant she’d have just enough time to get to the Generous Cup and meet Viktor. Her heart was light, carried over from having seen him yesterday. She gathered her supplies that she’d need at the lab after coffee and set out.

The sun was low in the sky and the morning air was brisk. She felt a cheerful hope as she turned the corner and headed in the direction of the café. There was a crowd of people already outside the front doors, but she didn’t see Viktor. She scanned the crowd, stopping short as her eyes came to rest on the unmistakable mane of Bellatrix Lestrange. She was reaching for her wand when she felt someone take hold of her elbow. She raised her eyes and found herself looking directly into the hate-filled face of Theodore Nott.

“Mudblood bitch!”

She was screaming when she woke up, clutching at her chest. Her skin was clammy and the careful braid she’d charmed her hair into had given way to the violence of her nightmares. Her eyes were wide as she scanned the room, wand raised. When she realized she was alone in the room, she put her wand down and threw the covers back. She knew the routine by now; she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight. She looked at the phone next to her bed and groaned at the digital display reading half three in the morning. There were more hours ahead of her than she’d managed to sleep but she was used to this. The morning after nightmare never let her truly rest but she’d been hoping for a reprieve; seeing Viktor yesterday had left her with such a positive feeling, she’d convinced herself she wouldn’t dream about him.

On her way to the kitchen, she stopped by the lab space she kept in the flat and grabbed a mortar and pestle, along with the ingredients she used in her hair pomade. She’d developed it while at university and it was better than even Sleekeazy’s for controlling her frizz and the tendency towards breakage. As the coffee brewed, she charmed a self-warming bowl and filled it with shea butter, Barbadian plant gum, the leaves of an apple tree, and beeswax that she got from the small hive she’d been gifted by Molly Weasley when she graduated as a Potions Master.

By the time the beeswax had melted, the leaves were wilted enough they could be macerated into the paste that made up the hair treatment that infused her hair with antioxidants, encouraged hair growth, and added a shine while controlling her frizz and turning her curls into something more manageable. She let the pomade sit as she sipped her coffee, thinking about Viktor.  

Seeing him yesterday had been heart-warming. She’d known he survived the War but had no idea what had happened to him after. When Dean had told her he’d purchased the abandoned shop and was operating a tattoo parlor, she’d managed to smile through the taste of bile at the back of her throat. She was truly happy for him, but she couldn’t bring herself to go anywhere near that storefront. Viktor inviting her in yesterday had been unexpected and she was terrified she’d given herself away with her off-the-cuff excuse. Thankfully, he was open to having a coffee well away from his storefront.

The seventeen-year-old that she remembered had been replaced by a man who was, without question, devastating. Her first glance at him, as she’d been coming down the street, had stolen her breath away and she’d all but melted against him when he’d picked her up. His frame was leaner now, and his hair was longer than it had been when they were children, but she found it suited him. He smelled like a delicious mix of ink, parchment, and flowers and she’d been unable to resist breathing in the aroma when she’d been hugging him.

She finished her coffee and made her way to the shower, allowing the hot water to sluice over her body and chase the aches and pains from her frame. She quickly washed using a muggle body wash that she adored the aroma of. Recreating it was on her list of pet projects she was always losing the time to work on as her responsibilities at the Ministry grew. She charmed the hair from her legs and carefully began her daily ritual of hiding the cost of the war.

Beginning with her legs, she used a muggle concealer to hide the latticework of deep, purple scarring that wound its way from her ankles to mid-thigh. Once she was satisfied with the level of concealment, she applied a setting powder that kept the concealer in place, so it wouldn’t run in the occasionally unbearable heat of her lab. She’d tried using magical means of concealing her scars but there’d been too many instances of it interfering with her potions work that she’d finally gone to see a Muggle dermatologist under a false name and had been told about this concealer, originally created by an American company and used in both special effect work but also to help those with truly disfiguring skin conditions, such as port wine stains. Her legs finished, she reached for the treated gauze she had made last month, applying it to her side and sighing in relief as the constant itch was knocked back to a dull roar. Her right side had taken a nasty curse from somewhere during the Battle. What she thought was just an itch turned into a curse that slowly ate away part of her skin before she realized what was happening. Two days after the Battle found her at Saint Mungo’s, hoping for relief. Madam Pomfrey was consulted, along with several mediwitches who’d all been stumped. Hermione had a sizeable patch of skin that was almost down to bone when Neville Longbottom arrived at her bedside with lengths of gauze he’d soaked in a solution that smelled like a dumpster at high noon on the equator. He worked quickly, his face pinched in concentration. Almost immediately, Hermione found the symptoms significantly alleviated; no more itch, almost tolerable burning sensation.

“Neville, did you make sure this smelled as awful as possible to get back at me for the Petrificus curse, first year?” she’d teased him, and she saw the tips of his ears go pink.

“Hermione, if I were getting even for that, I promise you the smell would be so much worse. I have had five and a half years to get it right.” he quipped back, “I promise, however, that if you make the solution two days before you actually need it, the smell will have completely disappeared.”

“You couldn’t bring me an already-cured wrap?” she’d teased.

“Well, my first year pride does still sting when it rains,” he’d replied and she’d barked out a laugh that led to his laughing. Three minutes later, they were curled together, holding each other up as they sobbed. Neville had ensured she knew how to make the solution, which included secretions from a plant Professor Sprout had told him about from Greenhouse Three that had to be mixed in just the right measure of solution or else the resulting solution would be toxic and fatal.

Her side tended to, she moved on to her arms; the matching lattice to her legs and extending from her wrist to her shoulders. She couldn’t do anything about the scars on her back courtesy of Bellatrix Lestrange but, if she didn’t see them she could pretend they didn’t exist.

Moving to her closet, she took a deep breath before opening the doors. Her nightmare was still fresh and, despite knowing she had an extensive wardrobe. Tugging the doors open, she was greeted by the tidy order she kept her closet in. To her left were her wizarding clothes. Robes, both formal and informal, hung according to color and preserved under a charm that kept away moths, smells, and dust. To her right were her everyday clothes, jeans, blouses, and an impressive collection of sarcastic t-shirts. Directly in front of her stood a smaller wardrobe where she kept her intimates, on top of which lay her wand holster and a picture of her parents she’d stolen from their home the night she’d Obliviated them. She kept up with them from time to time, ensuring they were doing well and completely undiscovered by the local magical community. She’d made the decision just after the War to let them remain in Australia. Part of her decision was because she didn’t truly believe all of the Death Eaters had been rounded up but another part had been because she was ashamed of what she’d done and she didn’t know if she could keep from telling her parents everything that had happened to her through the War. There were things she couldn’t face on her own, let alone try to explain to her parents.

She pulled a pair of jeans free of their hanger and pulled them up her legs before taking a critical look at her t-shirts. She giggled when she saw the one that had the chemical formulation for caffeine above a caption that read, “If you can’t identify this, we can’t be friends.” She remembered Viktor had always been quite good with Potions.

She emerged from the closet moments later, carrying her bright pink Chuck Taylors in one hand and her wand holster in the other (her wand was between her teeth). She fastened the holster and glamoured it to look like a wide belt before slipping her feet into the trainers and grabbing her satchel on the way out the door. She’d taken respite in the routine and it had helped to calm her nerves. Butterflies threatened her stomach as she thought about those stolen kisses in hallways that had been collapsed and imploded only a few years later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short but ... trust me.

Hermione’s flat, located in Shaftsbury Avenue, Covent Garden, was in the heart of what had fast become coined the “Magification” of Britain. Many witches and wizards who’d survived the Battle had moved away from traditional wizarding neighbourhoods and had branched into smaller clusters within Muggle neighbourhoods. Immediately following the war, Hermione realised she was going to need a Muggle ‘escape’ in much the same way Harry had Twelve Grimmauld Place and Ron had The Burrow, especially as they rebuilt. She hadn’t wanted to return to her childhood home (answering questions about her parents’ whereabouts would have led to her being the first war hero committed to Azkaban) so she’d arranged for an agent to sell the home and had used the money to buy her flat.

There was another witch and two wizards in the same building as Hermione; they were on a passing familiarity, which meant they nodded at one another as they passed. Hermione couldn’t tell you what their names were (it would be rude to presume they’d know hers, but their first awestruck head nod spoke volumes) but could identify them down to the direction in which they licked their lips. She chalked the latter up to the same hypervigilance that spawned her chronic nightmares. The walk from her flat to the Leaky Cauldron was ten minutes and it was another five minutes from there to the Generous Cup. She didn’t exactly hold her breath as she turned the corner, but she may have had an abnormally long exhalation when her eyes scanned the few people gathered. Once her internal alarms were satisfied it wasn’t an ambush, she relaxed enough to admire the picture Viktor presented.

When they’d been children at school, she’d only ever seen Viktor in his school robes (both formal and not) or in his training uniform. Durmstrang had some very strict ideas regarding dress codes, whether in class or out of it. She knew, from the hours they’d spent together, that he was strong and his Quidditch uniform didn’t do much to hide his muscles, but it had never been her focus. She’d been fascinated by his mind and they’d enjoyed several lively discussions about different potions and how they might be improvised or improved upon. Part of her decision to become a Potions Master (and there’d been more than a handful of fields that had welcomed her to an advanced position, thanks to her hard work) had been based on those conversations. Finding a new way to do something, to improve, to make better potions available, ways to incorporate some muggle practices to made potions easier to take by producing capsule delivery methods, all of it had culminated in her deciding this was where she belonged. It incorporated a little bit of Herbology, which ensured she and Neville stayed in touch and met at least once a month for tea. She’d hired him as a consultant to the Ministry after he’d turned down a position working for the Ministry directly. As the crowd parted momentarily, allowing Hermione to see the full length of Viktor’s body, she seriously considered breaking into Kingsley’s office to steal a time turner, going back to her younger self and forcing her to pay attention. Because then, perhaps Viktor Bloody Krum wouldn’t be as devastating as he was today.


	5. Chapter 5

Viktor woke the following morning, already smiling as he thought about seeing Hermione again. He had spent a good portion of last night (when he should have been researching) catching up on her career over the last ten years. It was no surprise she’d chosen to return to Hogwarts to ‘repeat’ her Seventh year, nor that she’d completed the coursework in half the time as the rest of her classmates. In September of 2000, she was accepted at the British Academy to study Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy. The following year, she dropped everything except Potions and Charms. While she’d technically done the coursework for both Charms and Potions Mastery, like a White Coat Ceremony in the Muggle world, to claim the title you had to take the cloak. She’d taken a Potions Master’s cloak in 2002 and had never taken it for Charms from what Viktor could find. After her matriculation, she disappeared from the news outside of official Ministry functions and the occasional mention along with her mates Harry and Ron.

He threw the covers back, taking the time to stretch each muscle group before getting up. He may not play professionally any longer, but he kept his body “flight ready” and he was conscious of waking his muscles up since he’d begun to spend repeated hours bent over in his chair, creating art. Once his muscles were awake, he rolled up to his feet, and padded across the room while brushing his hair back from his face with his hands. After being released from the Bulgarian team, and shortly after he’d begun to apprentice as an artist, one of the women who’d come into the shop had commented he’d looked “sexy” when he went longer than usual between haircuts. Later that night, she’d proven how sexy it was and he’d kept it longer since. He stepped into the ensuite and opened the door to the shower, turning the water to warm and quickly stripped. He retrieved a flannel from the pile beside the shower and stepped under the spray. He made quick work of washing his hair and body, stepping free of the shower stall less than five minutes later. After drying himself with the towel, his charmed his hair back from his face and he was ready to dress for the day. He opened his dresser drawers, removing both a pair of black jeans and a loose, black button-down shirt. He left the top button open, folded the shirtsleeves up to his elbows, and pulled his trainers on. He hid his wand holster behind a concealment charm and left his flat at quarter to seven. Twelve minutes later, he arrived at the entrance and a cursory glance showed Hermione hadn’t yet arrived. He angled himself so that his back was to the walls of the building and he had a wide view of the crowd and street ahead. Sneaking up on him was virtually impossible. So, of course, he was able to catch a glimpse of Hermione before she noticed him (by milliseconds) and he felt his pulse stop dead in his veins.

Her hair, the colour of bronzed chocolate, was pulled back from her face with the same high ponytail he’d seen the first day he’d seen her. She was already smiling, having spied him within a breath of his noticing her. She raised her hand in welcome and he smiled, moving towards her so they met somewhere near the middle. When the crowd cleared enough for him to see what she was wearing, his laughter erupted louder than he’d done in a long while.

“Good morning,” he greeted her, opening his arms in invitation to a hug. Almost immediately, he was met with the aroma of fresh apples as she folded herself into his embrace and squeezed him tight against her own smaller frame. “The passvord is, I belief, caffeine.”

“Quite right,” she said, a bit brighter than was necessary and he took a moment to drink in the shadows hiding under her makeup but didn’t want to interfere. She squeezed him tighter for a moment longer before pulling back, brushing an imaginary hair back from her face. Viktor noticed her cheeks were slightly coloured and he hoped he had at least a small something to do with that.

“Vould you like to vait in line or get a table?” he invited.

“Do you drink anything more complicated than black coffee?” she asked, and he couldn’t stop the bark of laughter that escaped.

“That sounds about right,” he replied, and she grinned again.

“In that case, I’d be glad to wait in line.”

Six minutes later, they were both seated at a table Viktor had secured, enjoying their coffee. And for the first time, Viktor wasn’t sure how to break the silence. Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

“I love your ink,” Hermione commented, and he smiled, flexing his arms out in front of him to show off the extensive artwork that extended from just beneath his shirtsleeves down to his fingers. He wore a full set of sleeves, connected across his chest, depicting the Muggle world on his right arm and the Wizarding world on his left. He’d had to use a handful of low level memory charms to get some of his artwork completed but he’d always been exceptionally generous in his tipping to compensate for it.

“Thank you. All my vork vas done by two artists, other than myself,” he answered.

“The work is exceptional. I have to admit, I’ve considered a tattoo but nothing ever stood out to me that wouldn’t have _some_ significance.” the way she emphasized the word told Viktor she was talking about something relating to the Wizarding world.

“Perhaps I can look at vhat you haff in mind.”

“That would be lovely. Thank you,” she grinned in response, taking a sip of her coffee before she subtly cast _Muffliato_ so they could be more free in their conversation.

“You must tell me how you went from being the Seeker for Bulgaria to a world-renowned tattooist,” she inquired.

Viktor chuckled a moment before relaying the story of his being let go and his subsequent fascination with tattooing. Hermione frowned at his being let go but laughed at some of the stories he’d built up over the years of people who’d sat in his chair. In return, she’d filled him in on the blank spaces the news had left. When she’d casually mentioned she’d also accepted a cloak in Charms, he’d been dumbfounded.

“Two Masteries? Certainly, you are the first, yes? So many vitches after you vill be inspired by you,” he’d earnestly interrupted and he was treated to the high blush that made her eyes dance.

“Honestly, I just couldn’t decide between them, so I made sure to complete the work for both,” she’d replied. Viktor had felt his eyes widening in surprise before he laughed.

“Yes. That sounds like the girl I remember,” he’d commented, casually. But he also noticed the deepening of the blush at her temples.

“You’re the first,” she answered, the tiniest bit of something sour in her tone.

Before he could answer, she’d glossed past it and was asking about what made him return to the Wizarding world. Now it was his turn to be careful. She was sharply intelligent (as evidenced by her dual Mastery) as well as being almost supernaturally smart. He took a breath before replying, “I vanted to share vhat I had learnt vith the Vizarding vorld.”

Her deep chocolate eyes sharpened for a moment (so brief he could almost convince himself he’d imagined it) as she regarded him. After a heartbeat, she smiled as warmly and as friendly as she’d ever been.

“Then you are to be congratulated for making tattoos mean something more than murdery-death cult.”

Viktor burned the shit out of his nose as he snarfed hot coffee out of his nose as he tried to swallow and laugh and breathe, all at the same time.


End file.
